A Day in the Life
by Jazzcat Olympia
Summary: It's been some time since the war ended. Harry is living among muggles, spacing himself from those that love him, want him, hate him. What happens when everyone starts to... forget? Eventually H/D, should be a fairly gritty story. Rated T for now.


Hello! Not my first fanfic, but I decided to start anew, and thus, a new account is born. This story will develop into H/D slash, and hopefully soon. Please be critical in your reviews. I am leaving for a month to Germany, but will have occasional access to a computer : ) Well, tell me what you think!

!!

Draco Malfoy had decomposed into a snarling mass of flesh by the end of the war. His blonde hair, a shell of empiricism, and his silver Slytherin scarf, a mark of times past, were the only things left to connect him with his transition to adulthood. Adorned in tattered robes, he no longer embodied the paragon of luxury.

It was but alcohol and bitter memories that held his slender frame above the earth as he staggered aside a dirt and gravel road late one night. Occasional passing stage coaches managed to disturb him little, only pungent intrigue raised his head. The slow clopping of horse hooves unfurrowed his brows for a moment, and, once, as he glanced up a small stagecoach window shone through the night. A pair of glinting green eyes stared straight through him, plastering a broken, animal grin across his refined facial features; hair mussed wildly, a guttural growl escaped from Malfoy's contorted lips. The coach picked up pace and passed this spindly character, eventually disappearing down the winding road. Draco broke into a crazy, haphazard run, and his longs legs pumped against the ground for what seemed like forever. In the morning, he woke in a seething crumple at the base of enormous, barren trees.

!!

Six years had passed since Harry was seventeen. He had grown into a handsome man of stature, with sweeping black hair, a killer chin, and, at six feet three inches tall, a good standing among the witches. Understandably he enjoyed spending most of his time away from the wizarding world- he preferred a flat among muggles. Near complete immersion in this simple world had humbled and relaxed the former savior of a fantasy world. It was no surprise he didn't want to keep in touch with those that idolized, those that scorned, those that knew his name pervasively. In this tangible world, he was just another pretty face with potential for whichever endeavor suited him.

His flat mate was called Liam, with brandy colored straw for hair that complemented his love for agriculture. He attended a little known college strictly for agricultural and natural studies a few minutes 

north of the city, in a more rural bit of England. Characteristically there was always a jug of some herb or another sitting in the kitchen, brewing into characteristically 'interesting' beer. More often than not, Ren, Liam's fiancé, was also perched on the kitchen counter, engrossed in a magazine and smoking like a chimney.

Harry himself spent his time listening to new music and drinking coffee. He found work at a small, eccentric bookstore just a block away from the flat. "Outlands" was run by a short man called Dade, who hated books but had a knack for business. That, and the rare books attracted cute, intellectual guys.

On the weekends Harry went during the day to the local park and at night to visit the Weasleys or muggle dance clubs. He exercised, gossiped, and then picked up cute girls who didn't know any better.

That was life for Harry; coffee, music, books, and women. The repetition was comforting.

!!

Harry was sitting like a sack of bricks behind the register at Outlands one Tuesday morning. He was sure giant purple bags sloped beneath his eyes, so that morning he'd opted for glasses instead of contacts. When he'd first arrived, Dade had had a fit.

"Oh, my dear Lord, Harry! You nearly made me drop my popcorn!" He exclaimed in a girlish lilt, blinking his eyelashes repeatedly.

"Why…. Popcorn? It's like… the crack of dawn…" Harry murmured slowly, eyes just slightly creaked open.

"It's freakin' 9:30, kid. I found a bag under the couch, so I thought to myself, 'You know Dadey, why the hell not?' And then I saw a picture of Kevin and you know I just couldn't bear it… I really should at least, like, leave a message, you know?" The dull green eyes that met his hazel ones were open but glazed, lips barely parted in brain-dead ambivalence.

"Sorry Dade. Enjoy your butter." Harry eventually managed, after a considerable drool-filled silence.

"Thanks, I will. If you need to get some sleep… or a couple drinks, you could maybe leave at two."

"I thought my shift was over at oneeee," He whined sleepily.

"Well… Hannah called out again. Just one measly hour? Pretty please?" At this point the flagrantly awake man attempted to woo Harry with a stuck out lip and glittering eyes. Harry paused to give a great yawn and fell back into his coffee.

"Unnhhh."

"Aw thanks Harr, you're my savior, really. I'm gonna go in the back, call if there's any trouble." He made a move to leave, but turned around to loudly whisper some advice. "And sweet Shania Twain, wear a mask or something-you'll frighten the customers."

Harry was left with his head on a book, staring through the rippled side of his generic coffee cup. He stayed that way for what seemed an eternity… and gradually his heavy lids drew shut, and his breathing slowed, and he was calm.

"Excuse me," A high, wary voice wormed its way into the depth of his fantasies an hour or so later. "Excuse me, but I think you've crashed into your book, there."

"Hmm?" Harry felt a deep anger at his arousal but was still too slow to show it, and instead wiped a bothersome drip of drool away with his backhand. "Oh yes, I had quite a late night."

It really was a late night, but was mostly spent on the phone consoling Ginny and binging on iced cream. He chose to wink at the brunette and let her think what she wanted.

"Hmm, yes. Well I was wondering if you might help me track down a book…?" She posed cheerfully. Harry stood, stretching as his knees finally straightened out. "Oh, dear. I'm afraid your name tag's upside down. And your, well, your shirt's come untucked."

This prompted a dead-eyed stare.

"Well, anyways, I'm looking for… oh my, could you just fix your, fix your name?" She fidgeted uncomfortably under Harry's incredulous gaze. He reached up theatrically to open the pin-back, and set it on the table with a measured ire. Her cheeks flushed in an annoying way, so that Harry almost strangled her.

"So, what was it you were looking for?" He growled with restrained disgust.

"Uhm, let's see, it's 'Whispering Hallow' by E. Harburd…" She glanced up from the slip of paper beneath her lashes. Harry's eyes immediately softened; that had been his favorite book of the last year.

"Great choice, that is an absolutely superb book," He smiled benevolently, eyes still droopy from grog. He began to rattle the information from memory. "We actually don't have it in store, but I can get it by tomorrow at ten, so…"

"Oh, really? That would be wonderful; I'm trying to find it for my mother," She squeaked, wringing out the small piece of paper with the title and author.

"I just need your name, and would you mind paying today?"

"Yes, yes, how much does that come to? Oh, uhm, I'm Ellen. Do you need a surname?" Harry nodded, not looking up. "Ellen Norwood. "

"That'll be 13 pounds, Ms. Norwood." She blushed again, inciting once more a tempered distaste deep inside the sales associate.

She handed over the money with a prim smile, all the while eying his untucked shirt with her own dose of distaste. With no audible goodbye, the delicate girl turned on her flat buckled shoes to make a quiet exit.

Harry was happy; he worked evening shifts on Wednesdays.

!!


End file.
